


there's a hole in my soul, i can't fill it

by olivestark



Series: flowers grow in even the darkest of souls [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Panic Attacks, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivestark/pseuds/olivestark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The coldness tells me of your warmth, and how it's escaped the world. The emptiness sang of your your touch, and how it relaxed my tangled mind. The moonlight whispered of the way the sunlight kissed your skin and made your hair shine like silk, and how I'd never see that again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a hole in my soul, i can't fill it

_It’s  cold. So cold. I am naked. No matter how I cover myself, I am here for everyone to see, yet they look right through me. Grime is inbetween my toes. And water. And blood. Everything is silent, I stand here; I am no one._

_“French revolution!”_

_It’s so loud. Everything makes me jump. I want to run, but my feet won’t move. Nothing touches me, yet it makes me shiver and cry. A body of a boy falls at my feet. No more than twenty, with rosy cheeks and dark curly hair. He stares up at me, but he sees nothing. Another boy falls from the structure. Another is hit in the chest._

_Everything… it’s too much… the lights… the noise… the death… the dying…_

_My head moves against my will. A small boy scrambles up the furniture… my chest is heavy… I know him… her._

_I catch a glimpse of her face. Tears fall, my limbs ache. Filthy fingers reach for one of the queer hand held machines… I try to scream but no sound comes out. I try to run, I can’t move._

_I wake up._

* * *

 

The sheets clung to her body, slick with sweat. Her breathing was wild and uncontrollable. Her dyed black hair stuck to her shoulders and neck and forehead. She wondered if she had screamed out.

It was still so cold. Why was it so cold? Her skin was burning.

She covered herself and headed over the window, threw open the shutters and let the wind cool her skin, even though she was shivering violently. White knuckles clutched onto the window sill desperately, she concentrated to make everything stop spinning.

_Please._

She started shaking. Not shivering anymore, shaking so hard she couldn’t control it. Her heart was heavy in her chest and sobs racked her body. It felt like an iron fist was punching her in the stomach, memories of years of abuse flashed in her mind. Blood rushed to her ears and the mountains were spinning. Her knees bruised as she hit the floor.

_I don’t want to see it ever again. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it._

Her ugly sobs echoed off her walls and bounced back to hurt her, a constant reminder of what just happened.

_Why can’t I do anything?_

The world was so alien to her; she didn’t understand. How did she die? What happened? _Why her?_

_Oh dear ‘Ponine. I’m so sorry._

She missed her so, but Lord Baelish wouldn’t let her tell or see anyone. She could never go back.

_What’s happened to you Éponine?_

She curled up on the floor and tried so hard to remember her face. She scrunched up her eyes and clung to her nightgown. She remembered a crooked smile, smooth, dark skin, sharp cheekbones, a glint in her eyes, a flutter in her voice.

Yet in the dream, she was never like that. Her voice was rough and her eyes dark, skin filthy and a heart full of pain. It was a blur. She cried harder.

_I wish she was safe, but I doubt it so._

She did not know the world, yet she visited it every night in her sleep. Every night it was the same. She stood there and watched her friend die. It reminded her of Flea Bottom, untidy, dirty, crowded. They were so angry, so desperate… they all died in front of her eyes… and Éponine… Oh Éponine…

_She was my friend, I loved her. I really loved her. I hate Lord Baelish, I hate Robert Arryn, I hate Aunt Lysa, I hate the queen, I hate the late king Joffery, I hate Tyrion Lannister. I hate them all for everything they’ve done to me._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm off writing hiatus! I needed a long break after the ficathon (which I didn't finish, I know). If you had noticed, I deleted my Les Mis coffee shop au. I'm not the type for chaptered work, I figured. 
> 
> Even though the first Sansa/Eponine didn't get many reads, I absolutely adore this ship and wanted to write more. There might be more in the future. Who knows.


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